


blue black sky

by koedeza



Series: prompts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Sam Needs A Hug, dean tries to help, sad!sam, sam is up to HERE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 04:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16033304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koedeza/pseuds/koedeza
Summary: based on the prompt "I don't deserve to be loved"or in which sam's been drinking, dean wants to know why and there's an electric storm somwhere in Nevada





	blue black sky

A single light glows out from the road.

The Impala slowly climbs up a step of pavement, pulling up to an empty parking space. Dean shuts her off, sitting in the car for a few quiet seconds. He can feel the raw energy coming off of Sam, the raw disappointment. He doesn’t want to look at his younger brother. Not because Sam’s done something wrong, but because Dean didn’t know. He didn’t know.

“Come on,” 

Dean says it short and clipped, and it works like a charm. They both open the car doors and get out, taking water bottles and pouring them on exposed skin. Letting Shapeshifter blood wash off and drip down onto dark black pavement. Dean pretends not to stare at Sam. 

Sam’s scrubbing hard at his hands with a sleeve, face completely calm except for his eyes. They seem to be locked on the water, on the way it adheres and turns into singular droplets, sliding until they roll of his palms. Eyes are always the dead giveaway. Grey and stormy, blue and violent, green and numb. Dean pretends not to stare and tries to get himself busy doing other things.

“I’ll go get us a room. You good?” Dean calls out, fishing some cash from under the driver’s seat. He hears Sam absently hum in response, then the loud sound of a water bottle being crushed. Everything’s quiet soon enough except for the creak of the Impala as Sam shifts around the backseat. 

“Weapons are gross. There’s probably a hose in the back.” There’s no further explanation offered and Dean doesn’t need any more. He pretends not to hear Sam slurring his words. Pretends not to hear how monosyllabic his answers are. Pretends he doesn’t know Sam was tossing back a bottle of Jack while he interviewed some locals. 

Dean looks down at his shoes, then up at the giant blue and black sky. Ever-expansive and terrifying. He can feel an electric storm on his way. 

 No rain. Just noise.

 

-x-

 

He was right. The storm starts right as soon as he gets them a room, the cracking of thunder and the fluorescent burning of lightning flashing from behind the window. Dean hopes Sam’s shut off the hose, hopes he’s not using any running water. Hopes he hasn’t zoned out enough that he can’t hear the storm.

“Hey, how long you think the storm’s gonna last?” Dean asks, scratching at his stubble and peering out at the sky.

“Reckon an hour or two. Maybe three if you’re lucky. S’ a real spectacle sometimes.” The old guy manning the reception says, going around the little room and unplugging appliances. He lights two candles and places them at the ends of the table.

Dean nods and waves a hand in thanks, leaving the guy in the dark.

 

-x-

 

Sam’s sitting on the hood of the car when Dean gets back, hair wet and slicked back with hose water. It drips down the sides of his face and down into his eyes. Dean shakes off his jacket and throws Sam the key to the room. It’s fucking hot for being so late. 

His brother slowly gets up and opens the door and Dean wonders about the half-empty bottle of Jack. When he opens the Pala, she smells like booze. Like liquor and lightning storms and uneasiness. It’s stashed in there somewhere, maybe screwed closed wrong and leaking. 

It doesn’t matter.

 

-x-

 

Middle of the night and the electric storm still hasn’t stopped.

Dean’s irritated, and rightfully so. Neither of them showered and the AC doesn’t work, so the room smells like sweat and alcohol and drying, coppery blood. It’s so hot that he can’t sleep and if they open the windows the thunder won’t let him sleep either. 

When Sam gets up and throws back the covers, it’s clear that he can’t sleep either. Dean knows it’s a combination of about fifty different things, three more prominently sticking out in his head. Booze, and talk, and a storm. 

He waits for a few minutes, lying still and silencing his breathing. The motel door clicks shut and the Impala door creaks open, thunder not masking any of it. Dean knows what’s Sam’s digging out of the backseat. Later, when he can’t hear his brother at all, Dean gets up and grabs the gun from his nightstand, jamming it in the waistband of his jeans.

 

-x-

 

The bottle’s almost empty.

When Sam got it from the backseat, he realized how shitty of a job he did screwing the cap on. It sloshed out and left only 1/4th of the bottle, leaving the Impala smelling ripe. Sam’s sure Dean noticed, but he doesn’t think he deserves an explanation. Doesn’t think he needs to give one. 

He eyes the bottle wearily and tosses back some more, not quite finishing all of it. 

It’s weirdly dark tonight. Sure, the sky is blue-black and the lighting is an eerie purple, but that’s just it. The lightning is illuminating the sky, but nothing’s getting brighter. He’s sitting in the middle of the road, the one that’s right outside the parking lot and everything’s blurry. Sensory overload is a thing, he knows, he’s felt it before. This is sensory deprivation. He’s feeling the bare minimum and its fucking wonderful. All thanks to a man called Jack Daniels. 

There’s a figure in the lighting shadows, a figure by the door to their room. It’s getting closer, shifting forwards and Sam knows who it is. Can tell by the way he walks. Trying to look cool but still kinda going fast, like he’s late to the party or something.

Dean walks right up to Sam, takes a long look at him, and plops down. He stretches his legs out in front of him, opposite of Sam who’s got his knees pulled up to his chest, and takes a long sigh.

“Not afraid you’re gonna get hit by a car?”

“Nah. We’re in Nowhere Fucking, Nebraska.”

“You drunk?”

“Mm just a little,” Sam hums, looking over at Dean’s pinched expression. His brother suddenly takes the bottle from his hand and turns it up, swallowing what’s left of the booze.

“Wanna have a least a little bit in my system before we talk.” Dean says through a grimace, screwing his eyes shut then opening them again. “You been downing that bottle all of today. What gives?”

Sam bites his lip and doesn’t startle at the nearing thunder. 

He knows Dean knows. 

“Someone said something I wasn’t ready to hear.” Sam answers curtly, eyes trying to follow the patterns in the flickering sky. “And I didn’t realize-” He burps, blowing up his cheeks and letting out hot air, “I didn’t realize it was so true.” 

He can see the way Dean’s nodding, can tell he knows who he’s talking about. Can tell by the tiny twitches in his eyebrows that he’s worried. It’s ridiculous and stupid and it makes him feel like he’s 4 all over again.

“What did they say?”His brother has this way of asking questions, this thing he does where he asks like it’s just a routine ‘How’s the weather?’ kind of question. It makes Sam equally uncomfortable and grateful. He doesn’t want to talk about it though. 

The father and his son. The blood on the walls and on his skin. The broken look in his eyes. The way he screamed like a child. The spike of fury in Sam’s veins. The uncontrollable urge to suppress it. The moment everything made of wood snapped like the ground splitting in two. The father’s mantra.

_“I made a killer, I made a killer, I made a killer, and now we’re all dead.”_

The son just couldn’t control himself could he. 

Sam laughs abruptly, in time with the noise and flash of the storm, leaning forward when he feels Dean tense next to him.

“You’re a terrible fucking liar Dean.” Sam cracks his knuckles, turning to look at his brother from over his elbow. 

“I might be. Just refresh my memory.” 

“I don’t deserve any of them- You know, Jessica, and Sarah and Madison, and-” He gulps, trying to drown his feelings in the buzz. “Magda, and Charlie.”

He stands up like a newborn dear, pierces the dark of the night with a scream.

“I don’t deserve to be loved!” Loud, like a siren. “I don’t deserve to be alive!”

He feels Dean turning to a crouch around him, slow like he’s talking to a scared animal.

“I don’t-” Sam’s breathless, arms tired and lifeless as they go back down to his waist. 

There was a feeling, once. Like he meant something, like he was supposed to do something. Like he could help the world and change it. Fix it and save what needed saving. He thought he had purpose, once. Him and Dean, against the bad guys. Him and Dean against the things that hurt you. Him and Dean against everything that was wrong. Sam was- Misguided, he thinks. Dean has a purpose. Sam did too. It wasn’t until he became the son, until a brother chanted _I made a killer, I made a killer, I made a killer, and now we’re all dead_ in his dreams. Wasn’t until then that things became so much clearer because fixing things was so much easier said than done. Sam Winchester, it turns out, was so much better at breaking them. 

“I don’t deserve anything.”

He confesses this and hopes the night will mask the way his lips twitch in and out of a smile. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> holla at me on tumblr @koedeza  
> you can find more of my writing there


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